A Terrifying Encounter

Let me share a story that has captivated me, even though it didn’t happen to me personally:

I had no idea that leisurely cruising through a peaceful residential area could turn into a perilous venture. Recent studies have revealed that riding a motorcycle demands split-second decision-making and intense cognitive processing, surpassing most other daily activities and even some sports. The reflexes and critical thinking required have been likened to those of fighter pilots. In both cases, the consequences of making poor choices or lacking situational awareness can be dire.

Occasionally, as a rider myself, I have found my focus waning while on the road. In aviation training, this is referred to as being “behind the power curve.” Experienced individuals can recognize this state and take appropriate action to rectify it. Taking a short break, grabbing a meal, or even refueling can help restore mental acuity by allowing the mind to catch up.

When riding a motorcycle, making sound, precise decisions in a timely manner is essential—especially if one wishes to remain unharmed. In essence, the brain must keep pace with the machine.

After exploring the roads of east Texas, I found myself back in Dallas, where I encountered heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Typically, this isn’t an issue as I commute under these conditions daily. However, on this particular occasion, I narrowly escaped a collision with a car that carelessly encroached upon my lane. While such occurrences are somewhat common in this area, I usually have an uncanny ability to anticipate inattentive drivers and avoid potential accidents before they arise. Regrettably, I failed to notice this one until it was almost too late, and in my attempt to evade it, I nearly collided with another car that had been lurking unseen.

Two poor decisions and insufficient situational awareness, all within mere seconds. I found myself behind the power curve. It was time to exit the freeway.

I swiftly took the next exit and, being familiar with the area, decided to traverse a series of quiet residential neighborhoods as an alternate route home. As I turned onto the tranquil streets, which were mostly deserted, I lifted the visor on my full-face helmet to enjoy a refreshing breeze. I thought that leisurely riding through these peaceful surroundings would provide an opportunity to relax, reflect, and regain the sharpness of mind often required while on the bike.

Little did I know…

As a car approached from the opposite direction, a brown blur darted out from underneath it, landing just a few feet ahead of me. It was a squirrel, seemingly attempting to scamper across the road when it unexpectedly encountered the car. Although I wasn’t traveling at a high speed, there was no time to brake or swerve—I was that close.

I’m not fond of harming animals, and encountering a squirrel shouldn’t pose any danger to me. Yet, I barely had time to brace for the impact.

Fear not, animal lovers. Squirrels are remarkably resilient!

Mere inches before collision, the squirrel sprang to its feet. Standing on its hind legs, it stared directly at me with an unwavering determination in its beady eyes. Its mouth opened, and at the very last moment, it let out a scream and leaped! If I had to guess, I’d say the squirrel’s scream translated to something like, “Banzai!” or perhaps, “Prepare to meet your doom, you gravy-sucking heathen!” Its leap was awe-inspiring as it soared over my windshield, landing squarely on my chest.

In an instant, it began its assault. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought the squirrel had rallied twenty of its tiny comrades for the attack. Snarling, hissing, and clawing at my clothes, it became a whirlwind of activity. I was only wearing a lightweight t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans, so this situation was becoming increasingly concerning. This furry tornado was inflicting genuine harm!

Imagine a large man riding a massive black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt hanging in shreds, and one remaining leather glove, cruising at a leisurely 25 mph through a peaceful residential street while engaged in a life-or-death battle with a squirrel. And losing.

Desperately, I reached out with my left hand and managed to grab hold of its tail. With all my strength, I flung the wicked rodent to the left side of the bike, narrowly avoiding colliding with the curb as I recoiled from the throw.

That should have been the end of it. The matter should have concluded right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have landed in one of the well-kept yards and gone about its business, and I could have resumed my journey home, none the wiser.

But this was no ordinary squirrel. No, this wasn’t even an ordinary irate squirrel.

This was an evil, malevolent attack squirrel!

By some strange twist of fate, the squirrel managed to grab hold of my gloved finger with one of its tiny paws. Using the momentum of the throw, it swung around and, with a resounding thud and incredible impact, landed squarely on my back, resuming its highly unsociable and incredibly distracting assault. It also managed to snatch my left glove!

The situation worsened considerably. His relentless attacks persisted, and now I couldn’t reach him.

I was utterly startled. The combination of the forceful throw, having only one hand (my throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my abrupt jerking motion inadvertently caused a significant twist in my right hand, affecting the throttle. Twisting the throttle of a Valkyrie has only one outcome—torque. The Valkyrie was designed for it, and it excels in that regard.

The engine roared as the front wheel left the ground. The squirrel screamed in fury. The Valkyrie reveled in ecstasy. And as for me, well… I screamed—I simply screamed.

Now envision a large man riding a colossal black and chrome cruiser, clothed in jeans, a partially shredded t-shirt, and with one leather glove, hurtling down a quiet residential street at approximately 70 mph, rapidly accelerating while balanced on a single wheel, with a demonic squirrel clinging to his back. Both the man and the squirrel were screaming bloody murder.

With the sudden surge of speed, I was forced to place my other hand back on the handlebars and regain control of the bike. This left the mutant squirrel to its own devices, but I certainly didn’t want to crash into someone’s tree, house, or parked car. Furthermore, I hadn’t yet figured out how to release the throttle—my mind was simply overwhelmed. I did manage to apply the rear brake, but its effect was minimal compared to the raw power of the massive cruiser.

At that moment, the squirrel decided that my attention was sorely lacking in this life-and-death struggle (perhaps it was a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and it maneuvered around my neck, finding its way into my fully enclosed helmet with me. As the face shield closed partially, the squirrel began hissing in my face. I’m quite certain my screams changed in tone and intensity, although it seemed to have little effect on the squirrel.

The rpm on The Dragon reached its maximum (shifting gears was the least of my concerns), and the front of the bike started descending.

Now picture a large man on an enormous black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a severely tattered t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, hurtling at around 80 mph on one wheel, with a puffy squirrel’s tail protruding from his partially closed full-face helmet. By this point, the screams were probably becoming somewhat hoarse.

Finally, I gained the upper hand. I managed to grab hold of the squirrel’s tail again, pulled it out of my helmet, and flung it to the left with all my might. This time, it seemed to work… to some extent. In a truly spectacular manner, I might add.

Imagine the following scene: you are a police officer. You and your partner have pulled over on a serene residential street and parked your car, leaving the windows down to complete some paperwork.

Suddenly, a large man on a massive black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the wind, and sporting one leather glove, speeds by at approximately 80 mph on one wheel, screaming at the top of his lungs. And with all his strength, he throws a live squirrel like a grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams. They weren’t mine…

I managed to regain control of the motorcycle and brought the front wheel back to the ground. Then, utilizing maximum braking power, I skidded to a stop at the stop sign on a busy cross street, creating a cloud of tire smoke.

Initially, I had every intention of returning to the scene (mainly to retrieve my glove), but there were two factors that dissuaded me. Firstly, the police officers seemed utterly uninterested, not even remotely concerned about me. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had parked in front of, rapidly shuffling away from their patrol car. The other officer stood in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at the police cruiser.

Clearly, the officers had more pressing matters at hand, and they often insist on “letting the professionals handle it” anyway. That was one reason. The other reason? Well, I swear I caught a glimpse of the squirrel standing in the rear window of the patrol car amidst a flurry of shredded upholstery and foam, shaking its tiny fist at me. I believe it was giving me the finger…

That squirrel is one dangerous creature. And now it has a police car…

I took a deep breath, activated my turn signal, made a calm right turn, and left the neighborhood with composure.

As for my leisurely and unhurried ride home? Forget it. Faced with the choice between speeding cars and inattentive drivers on the freeway or confronting the malevolent, demonic attack squirrel of death… I’ll take my chances on the freeway every time.

And I’ll treat myself to a brand new pair of gloves.